Live Free

All Is Calm

Most nights of late I am drawn awake in the wee morning hours. As I roll over to my right side, my eyes open slowly, and I am greeted by a sky of sparkling stars and sometimes if I am lucky, even the precious moon is in my view. Each night, as I awake I am astounded by the night sky. It has been decades since I’ve lived anywhere with a view of those nightly jewels.

It is a deep comfort. This view of the stars. Their presence settles me in my restlessness.

As winter solstice approaches, the hours of sunlight have significantly diminished. By early evening, lights or candles are necessary. The nights are long and there is a lot of time to think.  It is during these dark hours that the melancholy sinks in.

It’s an odd thing to follow your dreams. Or maybe it is that the  human experience is one long experience of continuously learning and relearning, pausing and noticing. There is joy. There is grief. There is sadness and pain. There is joy. There is peace. And on and on.  For many of us, this time of year is particularly laden with strong memories. Lately, I’ve been thinking about my dear old house in Texas at Christmas time and all the wonderful memories of Bea growing up there. Her little footsteps running down the hall when she was 2. The way the evening winter sun flooded the living room floor for just a brief moment before dusk arrived. How Bea would so often drag the stool to the countertop and join in on whatever it was I was doing in the kitchen. All the Christmas baking and the candles we lit.  Carols around the piano with dear friends. And hot cocoa in our Santa mugs. Those were very, very special years.  We left a lot of love when we moved.

I don’t regret moving here.  There is so much we want to discover that we couldn’t do in Texas but as is the nature of things, with the light, there is the dark. It is one.

Beyond the bittersweetness of remembering days past, It  been a lovely season so far.  The stockings are hung. The nativity scene is tucked in on the windowsill, and the wooden advent wreath is the table centerpiece. There has been snow.  I’m fairly strict about keeping the advent season quiet. This year I feel I have been particularly successful.  Less of everything has been my greatest desire. Less gifts to each other. Less garland (yes, I live in the woods and have all the garland I’d ever want this year, but since it’s all around me in nature, I feel like it’s good there and I don’t need it so much in my house). We dug up a sweet little hemolock and decorated it very sparsely. The branches cannot endure much weight so we chose only our most favorite and lightweight ornaments to adorn it. Since we try to run on solar power as much as possible, we didn’t add lights to the tree or the house. Instead, I’ve been lighting tea lights in the windows each night. There have been no big treks into the city to attend The Nutcracker or any other holiday festivity.  We’ve opted for hikes up the mountain and time at home, crafting and baking. I didn’t even send out holiday cards.

We have one more week until Christmas. My goal is to mail out the care packages we have prepared for family and to decorate a few evergreens in the woods with popcorn, cranberries, and dried oranges

All is calm. All is bright.

Thank you, dear souls for taking the time to follow my journey as I sporadically document the magic of the everyday here on this blog.  

Oceans of love to you.  

 

 

 

 

 

morning walk.

We took a walk around our town lake earlier this morning. Embarassingly enough, it's been nearly two years since the last time we visited this area. The morning was quite beautiful. Cold and stark. The sky was gray and the grasses were a washed out golden. A favorite palette of mine. Bea's sweater had a red hood. I love how it offered a pop of color in the photos! If I tried hard enough, I could almost imagine we were on the salty coast of a sea far, far way. Just the three of us. 

 

 

 

 

wintery

Winter took its time reaching us this year, but I'd say we are in the thick of it now (a Texas version, anyway). 

Last week was one of those dreamy ones. The ones in which we lose track of the days of the week and linger a bit longer in the doing not much phase, just because there's no better way to enjoy the damp and cold weather, in my book. Beatrix and I kept the house lit in candles, sipped on tea, and pretended for brief moments here and there that the rest of the world simply faded away (or at least I did). She danced around the living room to The Nutcracker about 987 times. Good times. I think she's got the stage bug. Her expressions crack me up. 

Here's a few photos that I snapped during the quiet and spare moments of the first days of the new year. 

 

 

day 1 of 2013

 

We all woke up grumpy. Can you believe? That's not a nice way to start the new year. We figured the best way to restart the day was to ditch the to-do list (yes, even on New Year Day, we had one), and go outside. 

It was a blustery, cold, morning. We saw a flock of bluebirds, which was terribly beautiful. By the end of our walk, we all felt better and (mostly) ready to take on 2013. 

Time is the greatest gift. I'm here. We are here. All together.

I often wonder what it is I will remember about my life when I'm older.

I'm so afraid I will remember very little. Which is probably why I'm the crazy lady always snapping photos. Believe it or not, I want to slow down in that department, at least just a little bit. I want to try harder this year to just live in the moments, without the need to prove they happened.  

 

our shortest day

Our day started with french toast and was followed by a lingering, slow morning complete with extended hours of jammie-wear. 

As late morning wore on, the sun shone bright in our kitchen, the need to enjoy this beautiful, short day became emminent. We packed our basket with a few essentials (and maybe a non-essential or two) and headed out to Berry Springs to enjoy the remaining divine hours of sun surrounded by acres and acres of quiet nature, good friends, and happy children.

I could not have thought of a more appropriate or relaxing way to spend our shortest day. Our kids spent their day emmersed in fresh air amidst the big Texas sky and climbed, chased, searched, laughed, splashed, and collected for hours upon hours. 

I needed a day like that -- a day overflowing with glee and innocence and simplicity...my girl and her little friends discovering the streams of fresh spring water, toes emmerged, pants pulled up, hands digging, sun beaming, breeze blowing through their beautiful halos of hair...

 

 

 

 

 

"I," said the donkey, shaggy and brown.

At the beginning of the Christmas season, I was feeling a bit flustered and uninspired about the big ole month ahead. It was 84 degrees, for goodness sake. Too hot for hot cocoa, or fudge-making, or snuggling under blankets. I felt confused and frustrated that our days weren't rolling along like last years - gray, wet, and cold. Ah...what a perfect first winter we had in our new home. 

Still, we bought a tree, put on a Bing Crosby LP, decorated it, all while sweating and giving in to using the AC, then called it a day. The thing is, no matter what sort of upside-down weather global warming throws in our direction, little people know none of the cynical attitudes. What is here is what matters and it is exactly as it should be. The act of having a tree, sparkling with lights; the fact that we end our days in candlelight because the daylight hours continue to shrink; the joy we feel reading story after story of a man and woman searching for place to sleep on a cold winter's night; and the miracle of a babe being born in a stable is really all it takes for a child. 

Beatrix told me a few mornings ago as we were watching the sunrise above the trees across the street from us, "Mama, it's another beautiful Christmas day." Indeed, it was another beautiful day. We were together. The sky was transforming right before our eyes from the deep ingigo hues to the early morning shades of lavender and pink. The season was upon us. There was love and peace in the space between us.

Thankfully, she is still at an age, where every gift could be by-passed without a wince and these days would still be overflowing with that magical "something" . Magic is in the moments and the intentions of our actions. Magic is in the golden light of the early evening sun. Magic is in the believing and magic is in the clear winter night sky displaying a thousand stars. It's forever in this ordinary life, unfolding one day after another.

A few years ago, I discovered the Christmas carol, "The Friendly Beasts" which quickly became one of my favorite songs ever! I fell in love with this song during Beatrix's first Christmas. She was 8 or 9 months or so and in that perfect baby stage - interactive and busy during her waking hours, yoddling and waving, continuously collecting dust bunnies as she crawled into every nook and corner. She was compact and solid and every bit still a babe. I remember there being many long afternoon naps and cloudy, gray skies. And I remember playing "The Friendly Beast" song over and over. After waiting for so long to become a mama, I had this feeling, that in my arms, in our home, Byron and I received our own special miracle. Truly, when Beatrix came home with us, it was as if the angels were singing and the world was rejoicing. There was a feeling of trying hold on to it all coupled with the bittersweetness of the fleeting time. It was the dearest of all Christmases up until that point.

A few years later, we still rejoice in our little miracle child. She no longer snoozes peacifully on wintery afternoons. However, she sings herself to sleep at night. There has been a time or two in the days just passed, when, in the evening hours, as I am cleaning up the kitchen one last time for the day, my mama heart melts into a puddle right there between the sink and the refrigerator. Streaming from her bedroom, down through the hallway to where I stand, I hear the lyrics of "The Friendly Beasts" being sung by a dear little one, snuggled under the blankets of her bed.

    "I," said the donkey, shaggy and brown, "I carried your mother up hill and down. I carried your mother to Bethlehem town. I," said the donkey, shaggy and brown.

It's these small and almost indescribeable moments that I want to tuck away in my heart. Those are the ones that define this magical time of the year and make me overwhelmingly proud and content for the life I get to live. 

chance of snow

It's Sunday morning, and the little one and the husband are off at the grocery store gathering a few ingredients to make a gumbo. It's perfect weather, afterall. Finally, some seriously cold temperatures made its way to our parts yesterday. There's even a chance of snow...I'm giddy.

And the photo? Oh, it's tossed into this post because, well, I like it and the fun that Valentines Day brings to an otherwise dull part of the year. That, and I meant to put it in the previous post, but forgot.   

weekend spent outdoors

The weather has been just gorgeous around these parts. We spent most the weekend outside. Yesterday we canoed up and down the river and today we spent a few hours hiking in the woods. This is such a great time of the year to be soaking up the great outdoors. Fresh air is good for the soul! 

january sunrises and a friday morning adventure

What I love most about these recent days are the sunrises. In general, these Texas skies have been breathtaking at all times of the day. But, the sunrises, oh my, stop me in my tired and frantic tracks. They are the calm on our busy mornings as we work to rush out the door. Noticing the sunrise quietens my distracted mind, allows me a minute to focus on my breath, to savor the soft pale hues penetrating through the dark and bare limbs of the trees that stand tall along the field across the street. Witnessing the pale pinks, grays, and blues transcend into the horizon, against these bare and naked trees, is my moment ~ my moment to let go of the worries from the day before and of the day to come, to let them go ever so briefly, and to breathe in this short moment of natural beauty. Every day is a new day. Another gift. 

Yesterday, Bea and I took a walk to the river. Empty handed. No phone, no wallet, no camera. It was a crisp, breezy January day. The pewter colored trees stood in bright contrast to the perfect blue sky. It felt more like the first of spring days than the middle of winter with the clover and dandelion thick and green at our feet. We held hands along the pathway. She and I. Then she would run ahead of me, getting off the path and into the green grass to admire little purple flowers. Every several strides, she would quickly stop at the sight a single, perfect dandelion. There she would squat, kneel down, and admire these delicate first flowers. And as you can imagine, a few were picked: for myself and daddy, her school friends Jane and Lucy, her Granny, and her Nana and Papa. All of her loves. She looked so little and innocent with the wind blowing through her hair, surrounded by the emerald, damp grasses. I hoped for a second to always remember her this way: with her exuberant joy and happiness at the sight of a dandelion - a dandelion. She was every bit a small precious child in total wonder with the world and so entirely in the moment.

Then we walked some more. We noticed our shadows following right along side of us - mine was tall and hers was short. She and I. She would run a bit to see if her shadow would chase her and she giggled when she realized that it was.

She discovered a low spot in the grass which had some standing water from the rains that came earlier in the week. She pitched a pepple into the small pond. If I would've let her, she would've splashed and splashed, submerging her feet and ankles into the pond, and squooshing her toes into the mud. This time, I had to stop her because it was cold and she wasn't wearing boots.

We continued to walk until we reached the bark park. We met a few sweet dogs and their owners. We got to talking about homeschooling, home day care settings, the local elementary school, and an old neighborhood cemetary which I didn't know existed but I am now looking forward to exploring. Bea didn't want to leave. She could've played with the pups all day. After a little convincing, we were on our way to the river.

A five minute walk can turn into an hour's walk with a preschooler in tow.

The river was flowing and glistening with the light of the sun reflecting into it. The ducks and geese were out and about, swimming about this way and that. We crossed the foot bridge over the river and made our way to a little stone penisula that juts out into the water. We tossed rocks and sat mostly quiet. We noticed birds swooping and some singing. We listened to the Sycamore leaves blow in the breeze.

It was a sweet morning. Quite nice to just "be" with her ~ with nothing in particular to do but to toss some pepples into the river and to stand in amazement of dandelions. I like that. It's my kind of adventure. 

 

ho hum

I don't have much to share right now, but I thought I'd pop in just to say hi! Tomorrow is Friday and I'm happy about that. We had a sweet week at school, but I'm looking forward to not rushing Bea and I out the door by 7:15. After three days of that each week, we require a four day break to recharge for the next week's round. 

Still, I don't mean to moan about our schedule. The work away from home helps to provide some structure for us, which I need. Without it, I'm afraid way too many days would drift by without my getting out of jammies. And for me, that just doesn't feel healthy. The part-time kick out of the door is a fair compromise.

I've been thinking about the impending gardening season. It will be here before we know it. I'm excited to give it a go in our new space. Byron is getting geared up to build a few beds. I hope, hope, hope that this year is NOTHING like last year (in the way of precipitation and heat). Last summer was dreadfully hot and dry.

We need to install rain barrels stat. But that's easier said than done. First we need gutters or at least partial gutters. Oh...Byron and his never ending list of honey do's. Weekends are never long enough. Right now, our method of harvesting water consists of leaving buckets out in the yard...I have a strong suspicion we might continue to roll like that for quite awhile - at least this first year here. 

I'm also thinking about ways in which to organize our outdoor space. A few weeks ago, I made a trip out to my greatest source of gardening inspiration, The Natural Gardener. It never fails to inspire - never! And so, I have lofty dreams of having a wonderful children's outdoor space, different types of trees, (some that produce fruit and nuts, some that offer beautiful spring and fall color, all drought tolerant and native), meandering pathways adorned with herbs, native grasses and wildflowers, garden beds in the front yard, my chickens, of course, in the backyard, berry picking along the fence line, bees...all on 1/4 of an acre....We'll see. 

On to another topic all together different from urban homesteading: I don't watch alot of television but every now and then I fall in love with a series. I've been enjoying this PBS series so very much. What fun it is to get lost in an on-going story line. I must admit, it's been a very long dry spell over here ever since Mad Men vanished and never returned.